I love comedy. I love stand up comedy especially.Nothing cranks me up like a really obnoxious andMostly fat guy aiming jabs at an unsuspecting audienceAnd no I do not go for comedy night, do not care muchFor the Amarula Family and Theatre Factory may wellBe a warehouse on 6th street that stocks up on propsAnd caricatures( sounded nice in my head).

I love yo mamma jokesI love a guy who can take my mother apartPiece by piece just with his foul mouth- and yesI love my mother.These are some of the ones i like to share wit u

1.yo mamma’s too fat, her tattoos have strechmarks2.I was on top of your sister yesterday and I looked worried. So she asked me “what’s the matter?” I told her I was going to be on Yo Mamma (it a TV programme). And she said “don’t worry, everyone has been on her”3.yo mamma’s got summer teeth. Some are(read summer) yellow, some are crooked and some are just missing.

Is it just me or was last weekend a month of Sundays?I slept, woke up, ate- u know the normal time consuming tingsBut no. time just stood still.My sister’s shop got robbed by a guy(or chic) wit a sense of humorHe musta felt sori for my sis. He left an item of everything he stole.One piece of Samona, one bungle, one packet of always, one bar of soapOne movit, even one strip of airtime.He must have loved the dettol soap though, because that, he carried it all.

Back to the long weekend, this guy I like did not e-mail. I call that commitment issuesMajor depression there. I decide to take matters in my hands and dictate that timeSpeeds up so I went on location for the movie “kiwani”. You have all heard about it right?That is where I met a really cute but short guy. And that is where that story will end.New week, a lot on my mind, none of which I can put into words

this seems to be the in thing.everyone has an A-Z of sortssome of them hilriousfor a while now i hav thought hard about itbut hav stil failed to come up wit onei guess some of us dont have iti cant do an A-Zi wont be bothered to think aboutwhat to write on Q,X,V,K Yand Z

I am like the antichrist of chain mail. The lack of originality, the shallowness and the gullibility of the senders is almost nauseating. Most of the time I spam the e-mails, but you just can not spam the messages that come on phone.

Usually, I ignore these messages, do some cursing even if sender will not hear, dismiss these shallow people and hope to God that by not replying I am communicating that I can not come down to their level of brainlessness. Honest.

These are the same sentiments I held when on the 30th of last month some oaf sent me one of those messages promising that if I went on to send that message to 8 other people I would get money within four days.

It was the end of month. Get it? Huh? End of month, two very likely things. One is that I have been broke for like the last quarter, make that half quarter of the month so I could not be bothered to load my phone just so I can satisfy the whims of some very bored, very redundant person. The second one is that I had done my maths and realized that my wages had been deposited on my account two days prior, so it was very likely that within four days the cheque would have matured and viola! that’s money on my account.

So I did the sensible thing, refused to send it to anyone, deleted it, and went back to sleep, feeling happy about my genius. I was already mentally spending my salary when four days later, I went-gloating- to check my account and viola! empty. I scoured all my folders looking for the bloody message to try and send it and see whether my luck had changed, but I had deleted it. So there I was, broke, humbled and suddenly a believer in superstition.

My brother threatened to beat me up if I did not stop seeing him, I almost fought with my cousin’s friend over him, I fought with him constantly, fought with my boyfriends over him every so often, and now he is leaving.

He never held me, never told me he loved me, cheated on me, constantly put me down, was constantly competing with me on who spoke better English, who had the best jokes, who delivered the fastest punch lines, who knew the latest songs and latest videos, and now he is leaving.

He is Nigerian, he is Ugandan, speaks neither Nigerian nor Ugandan, says he was born on the wrong continent, calls himself a gypsy, says he is not like every body else- and he is not- is an ex-seminarian, and now he is leaving.

I left him, coz I wanted more, but I saw him every so often, coz I wanted him more. We flirted, we teased, we got back together. I was happy. And now he is leaving. I am sad now. But still he is leaving.

You say tomato, I say tomatoOnce, we had not done the week’s shopping, and were running low on groceries at home. While cooking lunch, my sister realized there weren’t enough tomatoes to make the stew. She then sent my brother Gidi (9) to go to a nearby shop to buy tomatoes. Minutes later we were all bursting with laughter when Gidi entered the house carrying a bottle of TOMATO SAUCE.

Of blue soda and pressed breadAt a house warming party last year, when serving soda, I asked my little cousin Melysa (3) what type of soda she wanted. She looked me square in the face and replied, “blue soda”. A few months later, she was flower girl at my sister’s wedding. After grueling hours in the salon and church, everyone was tensed up, tired hungry and well, angry. There was not as smiling face in the bridal car cruising down Kampala road when she suddenly turned around and asked everyone “who knows how to iron bread?” and just like that, there was not a somber face in the bridal car cruising past the post office.

“daddy for sale”When my dad passed on in 1998, my lil brother Gidi who was 4 then was adopted by my uncle who instructed him (gidi) to call him daddy. A little while later while visiting, Gidi looked at me earnestly and asked me “D, who is your new daddy?” I looked at him puzzled and asked him “well what do you mean gidi?” and he says, you see, me when my 1st daddy died, I got another one. I almost broke down and explained to him that it was not that easy. So he says, “why, don’t you have money to buy one?”

Ocean’s 11 right in our living roomShamim, my adopted sister always gets excited when she has a cough. This is because she is a syrup junkie (simply put, a drug addict). She fakes cough all the time so she can get bought for syrup. I have never seen anyone so religiously dedicated to taking the correct dosage of medicine. But not Shamim. She wakes up staggering in the morning with a bottle of syrup and a scoop and she will not do anything else until she has been served her daily bread. Then after, she watches the clock and the syrup like a hawk until it is time for more. On one such occasion, she fell asleep midmorning, woke up and bought the syrup over. This time though, she looked disgruntled and was grumbling a lot. So when she gets near, she complains “D, do you know that Robert (our house help) is a thief?” I ask her how come? So she says “this morning, the cover (the box) of my medicine was tightly closed but now it is a bit open” on inspection of the box, I discovered the poor box had dog-ears from her constant poking and could not shut tight. In her eyes, Robert could as well be one of the Ocean’s 11. She does not trust him one iota.